Call of the TV.

Why ditch a template that seemed to work so well?

Why leave first-person mystery adventuring behind for a platformer set in the 1970s?

A screenshot from American Arcadia. Think 1970s. A man - Trevor - stands behind a podium ready to address an audience, with a TV screen hanging behind him. The room around him is all oranges and reds, and he has a moustache and glasses and longish frumpy hair. And a tank top. Don’t forget the tank top.

Like I said, I worried.

American Arcadia review

I shouldn’t have.

Let’s cover the basics.

Cover image for YouTube video

Sorry to any Trevors out there.

Trevor is a no-one.

No one notices him and, more importantly, no one watches him on the American Arcadia TV show.

A screenshot of a side-on platforming section in American Arcadia. We see a man crouching behind a large box in a garage area.

But one day, things begin to change.

A good friend disappears - where did they go?

Strange sounds start blurting out from speakers - what do they mean?

A series of what look like large filing cabinets bar the way of a small male character we can just about see. We have to move them around to find his way through. It’s a puzzle.

Quickly, the facade of Trevor’s world begins to slip.

Thus, the seeds of the adventure are planted.

You play both sides of the story, then - both the person guiding Trevor, and Trevor himself.

A man in a tank top and white shirt runs away from a suited FBI-like agent behind him. In the foreground, a lady sits on a strikingly yellow bench.

And it means the game is roughly broken into two parts.

And frequently, the two parts overlap.

You might open a door, or turn a light on or off to distract someone.

We see computer screens on a desk showing tiles with letters and numbers on them, which you have to match a bit like a word search in the game.

Or you might move a crane.

This is the primary way the game adds challenge to Trevor’s platforming sections.

The puzzles the hacker is presented with vary - they vary a lot.

Looking at a computer monitor and a hand holding up a phone in first-person perspective. On the monitor is a camera feed showing some people clustered around a bus.

I don’t think any two puzzles are the same.

These sections are much more like Call of the Sea.

This, broadly, is how the game goes.

An orange convertible car on a dais. It’s 1970s in design and gleaming.

It’s quite smart the way it happens.

It’s playful and inventive, like a lot of the game.

However, there are problems in these sections too.

Text saying “The Day the Running Started” overlays a zoomed out shot of a pristine 1970s hotel foyer.

Both sides of the game feel slightly underdeveloped to me.

Let’s take Trevor’s platforming as an example.

He runs left and right and jumps and climbs, and can pull some objects around.

But that’s it - it’s very basic.

And too often these sections feel like you’re simply holding a stick in one direction and intermittently jumping.

There’s no delight in discovery as you find new things the platforming sections can do.

The CCTV hacking mechanics are supposed to be the difference, but they don’t add much.

I want - and wait - for this to build to a meaningful puzzle, but it never does.

Worse, it can be aggravating to use.

These bursts of frustration stand out all the more because in general, the game is all breezy progress.

And there’s frustration here too from the trial-and-error approach, especially when it takes time to redo sections.

They stick out a bit for it.

Coupled with an inability to affect the outcome of the story much, this theory gains strength.

Presentationally, too, it’s a winning package.

It’s surprisingly effective.

And it’s in the way the game is put together - the directorial sense of control felt throughout.

It pacey and it feels really slick.

I think it shows real confidence and craft.